


clean

by days4daisy



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathing/Washing, Extra Treat, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-26 15:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17748815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: This Graves is so familiar. Credence knows him in a way he thought he’d forgotten. “I’d like to be clean,” he says.





	clean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Binary_Sunset](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binary_Sunset/gifts).



> Hope you have a nice Chocolate Box, Binary_Sunset!

Credence is fire, then nothing, then something once more.

When Credence wakes, he is alone. The subway’s inner network is a dark, ghostly haven. His clothes are ripped and his body is weak. Time has passed, but he has no way of telling how much. He cannot feel his power. Credence has always felt it for better or worse - a twitch at the tips of his fingers and a stirring deep in his gut. It has caused him dread, anxiousness, and a sliver of comfort. Its silence is strange.

The night streets are a dizzied maze of possibility. Credence can go anywhere and nowhere. He is homeless, and it is both a comfort and a terror.

Credence wanders in a blind panic until he decides his course. What he intends to do, he cannot say. His hands shake and his feet trip. Late night revelers give him alarmed looks, with his ripped clothes and sickly pallor. Credence pays them no mind.

It is a home with dark siding on the far corner of a quiet block. The door is black with a gold number plate: 236. The lion face knocker gleams in the twilight. The door is locked, of course. Credence could find a window, or pick the lock, or _knock_ of all things. But he must see inside, he must know, after everything, he must-

Credence stands in the foyer. He faces stark black stairs, his back to a door that is not broken or picked, nor any window unlocked. A shiver crawls down Credence’s back. His bare skin prickles more inside than it did out on New York’s winter streets.

The home is dark save a single light across shadowed floorboards. It comes from the adjoining room, a spot of yellow cream that catches Credence’s attention. He enters. A single candle glows on the mantle overseeing a wooden table. Its surface bears open texts, scattered notes, and the scratch of pen across paper.

Credence's breath catches when he recognizes the side profile. Downcast eyes. The severe shape of his hair. His sloped nose. A furrowed brow. Credence sees in him false kindness, manic elation, murderous rage. He sees ugliness in a face he once yearned for. Betrayal digs in like a knife in his stomach.

Graves pauses to fold a tired hand over his eyes. He exhales slowly, lips parted.

A moment later, Graves whips in Credence’s direction. His fingers tremble around his wand, his eyes wide and wild. Like a deer, Credence thinks.

“Credence?” A different sort of pain fills Graves’ eyes. He staggers from his chair. “You’re- You were dead, they said.” His grasp on the wand falters.

“I’m not,” Credence says. “Neither are you.”

This brings a sick smile as Graves steadies a hand on his desk. “Not quite, but... You must be freezing, you- how did you get in? The door is double-bolted, I made sure- It’s not important. Let me fetch you something-”

“Don’t.” Credence recalls the press of this same body against his. Hands cradling his face. A soft smile meant only for Credence. His stomach turns.

A sadder shine reaches Graves’ eyes. His hand firms on the desk, and his smile turns gentle. “Tell me what you need, Credence. I’m still working out what I need myself, I…” Graves shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter. What do you need, Credence? Please tell me.”

Under his gaze, Credence feels small. He wants to be angry, he wants revenge, he wants to hurt the one who hurt him! But under Graves’ eyes, Credence is a child again. His heart trembles, and his hands shake. “Did you know me?” Credence asks. “Did you find me? Or was it _him_?”

Credence has no name for the pain in Graves’ eyes, but he feels it himself. Humiliation at being so easily and readily used. “Yes,” Graves says. “It was me, Credence. I found you. We met many times. I fear I never said all I should have to you. About how special you are, how I would help you if I could.”

Credence’s hands feel cold tucked against his sides. “I hate you,” he says, but he knows it isn’t true. Credence’s body feels heavy, and his eyes sting.

Graves’ grip twitches on his desk. “I understand,” he says. Credence used to think Graves always understood him. He was the only one who would listen, who would help him one day. “Can I get you something?” Graves asks. “A fresh shirt at least, or a coat to wear over your clothes? You must be freezing, Credence.”

This Graves is so familiar. Credence knows him in a way he thought he’d forgotten. “I’d like to be clean,” he says.

New light reaches Graves’ eyes. “Of course. The washroom is upstairs. I’ll get you something to change into.” Graves ushers Credence to the staircase in the foyer. Credence hurries to keep up with his sudden bluster of activity. “Can I call someone for you, Credence?” Graves asks.

Credence says nothing. It is a relief, he thinks, that no one will wonder after him. He is quite alone.

Graves’ eyes seem to know, as they always did. “I’ll make up the spare for you,” he says. “Come on. Let’s get you warmed up.”

Credence wonders what part this is playing for Graves. This chance to rush about running baths and making up beds. Graves’ search for clothes in Credence’s size takes on a frenzied joy that Credence finds himself drawn to.

The bathroom glows like a lighthouse beacon, and it smells of steam as the tub fills. Credence’s eyelids slip as soon as he steps inside. He is tired and cold, and for the first time in so long he realizes he is not afraid.

Graves smiles and guides Credence inside. “Leave your clothes against the wall,” he says. “I’ll take care of them for you.” The washroom is small, and their proximity so close.

Credence is taken by the simplicity of Graves’ clothes. During their meetings, Credence always found Graves’ attire immaculate. His robes, his fitted suits, his smartly shaped hair, his polished boots. Tonight, Graves wears a button down shirt, collar undone and sleeves rolled to the elbows. The shirt is tucked into brown, casual slacks, and his feet are bare. The floor beneath is a cascade of black and eggshell tile. The tub, a simple white with copper toes.

“I’d like to be clean,” Credence says again.

“I know.” Graves’ voice welcomes him like a perfect pillow. “A soak and you’ll feel reborn, I promise.”

Credence lifts his head. “Will you help me?” he asks.

The hands Graves sets on Credence’s shoulders are warm. Credence’s stomach twists in a way that used to scare him, unbridled destruction under his skin. Now, Credence feels only cold. He is alone in a way that makes his chest ache and a gnawing fear sprout behind his eyes.

“Will you touch my face?” Credence asks. Graves’ confusion grows more pronounced. Credence rushes on, nerves souring his tongue. “ _He_ touched my face, and I don’t- I won’t think of that any more. I want him gone, I-”

“Shh.” Twin palms cup Credence’s cheeks with care.

Graves’ touch lacks the assurance of the imposter’s. Credence should have noticed the difference. The fraud handed out affection with little thought. Graves’ touch, by comparison, is nervous. His gaze is patient, and his smile is a prayer. Thumbs cross the span of Credence’s cheekbones.

“Will you kiss me?” Credence asks.

A stricken shadow falls over Graves’ face. “Did he do that to you, Credence?” Graves’ voice is faint. “Did he- god, he-”

Credence shakes his head inside Graves’ unsteady palms. He is so warm, and so close. Credence leans up on his toes and nudges his lips against Graves. It is a kiss by name only, a mere brush of contact.

Graves’ anguish is gone when their eyes next meet. But something lingers; a buried, tumultuous thing. “You are welcome here, Credence,” Graves says slowly. “No matter what you do or don’t do. What you say or don’t say. Know that, please.”

Credence takes one of Graves’ hands from his cheek and guides it to his torn shirt. Graves’ eyes are on him, a shine in them that Credence takes as a challenge. He nuzzles his face into Graves’ neck, noses under his jaw and kisses his chin.

“Credence,” Graves sighs, a touch reproachful. But his fingers descend, opening Credence’s shirt. Credence fumbles with Graves’ as well. The body beneath is a marvel. Credence runs fingers over his skin, experience gained from every line.

Credence gropes for the belt, but Graves evades him. Something new glows on his face that Credence responds to. He shifts into Graves’ space, urging more of his attention. Graves chuckles. “Take your time,” he says. “First, like this.” He places fingers under Credence’s jaw. Positioned, Graves leans in.

This kiss is much different. Credence becomes more aware of the movement of his own lips, the way Graves urges them to open. When they do, Credence gasps to find them closer than before. Graves’ lips are soft, tender instructors. He sucks so slow and sweetly, Credence’s knees want to give way. Heaviness blossoms between his legs. His stomach twists with new heat.

“I know,” Graves says to his skin. He’s lowered himself to brush lips to Credence’s throat, to nuzzle his face to Credence’s chest. Credence gropes backwards for the sink. He watches, wide eyed, as Graves swallows one of his nipples. He plays with it, suckling until the pink skin becomes pebbled red. Credence makes a quiet sound, strained and asking. Graves’ hands are on his slacks, and Credence cannot keep the twitch from his hips. His prick has grown hard in his trousers. An embarrassed flush spreads over his cheeks.

“Easy now,” Graves coaxes. His lips graze just above Credence's pants. Credence jolts forward, and a whine tears from his lips. New heat blossoms across his face. “Is this what you need?” Graves asks. He’s on his knees, looking up with kind eyes.

Credence’s heart lurches. This Graves is so true, how foolish was Credence to not see the difference? He nods. What Graves intends to do, Credence is not sure. He is not well-educated or practiced in these matters. But his body is ablaze, and he craves closeness. He wants Graves to touch him however Graves desires.

Graves is cautious as he undoes Credence’s trousers. Careful still as he rolls them to his knees and peels Credence from his underwear. Credence’s cock springs free, eager for a thing it has never known beyond the touch of Credence’s own hand. Credence's heart races with nervousness and want.

“Look at you,” Graves breathes. He guides the base of Credence’s cock closer. This bird’s wing of a touch nearly makes Credence sob. He is not prepared for the parting of Grave’s mouth or for the slow, gentle trace of a tongue along the slit. Credence does sob at this. He is mortified, so loud, so ugly a sound.

Graves smiles at his reaction. Then, lips opened, he leans in.

His mouth is unlike anything Credence has ever felt. Wet heat circled so completely around his tip. Credence moans and grips the sink with shaking hands. His back arches, and his hips jut up. Gentle hands cup between his thighs as Graves swallows an inch more of him. A shudder deeper than any Credence has ever felt tears through his body. It comes from a different place than the darkness, chaos that springs from his pores.

Credence does not last. Graves is barely halfway down when Credence cries out. Liquid head floods from his belly and shoots through his extremities. Only hands clamped on the sink keep him from crashing to the floor. His knees turn to jelly, and a whimper snags on his lips.

“Was that your first time, Credence?” A rasp rumbles under Graves’ words. Weighed down as Credence feels, the roughness of Graves’ voice makes his breath catch.

Credence swallows hard, stars dancing before his eyes. He can barely make out Graves on his knees, his lips so wet. “No,” he says, “I’ve-”

“With a man?” Warm in the face, wet eyed, Credence nods. He expects Graves to be cross with him.

The smile Credence receives is a surprise, as is the kiss to Credence’s thigh. Credence marvels at as Graves peels off his shoes, pants, and underwear for him. “The bath is ready,” he says.

Credence begins to protest, but he stops when he sees Graves shrug out of his own clothes. Credence cannot help but look. Graves’ cock, half-masted, rests on a bed of thick, dark curls. His balls hang heavy, his thighs thick and strong. Credence scrambles for Graves’ hand.

The water is still warm, but Graves’ embrace is warmer. He sinks into the steam, back to Graves’ chest. Heavy, contented, Credence nestles close. “I don’t want to stay in the spare room,” he says. It’s a child’s request, and Credence half-hopes Graves will not hear.

Graves’ chuckle rumbles against Credence's back. “Alright,” he says.

Smiling, weary, Credence closes his eyes. For once, he does not worry about what waits on the other side.

*The End*


End file.
